Heavyhearted Interlude
by MorganLeFay33
Summary: At the start of WWI, a young Miss Violet Whisset arrives at Downton as a housemaid and finds unexpected companionship in Miss Sarah O'Brien. Crossover for Upstairs, Downstairs and Downton Abbey.
1. Chapter 1

**Heavyhearted Interlude**

* * *

_So here is yet another fic shipping one of Sarah Lancashire's characters with one of Siobhan Finneran's, and hopefully there will be more to come! I've set this story in 1915, which is in-between series 1 and 2 of Downton Abbey. If my calculations are correct, Sarah O'Brien would be about 45 during this time, and Miss Whisset about 25…so…gasp! There is an age gap! I could have messed with it more to lessen it, but honestly, I was fascinated by the idea of a younger Miss Whisset. She seems so prim, innocent, morally upright, even patriotic during Upstairs, Downstairs, and I'd like to explore/explain/undermine that a little ;-) Happy reading! Xoxo, Morgana_

* * *

**Chapter 1: Making Amends**

* * *

"Do you want to play cards with us, Violet?" Daisy asked amiably. Everyone knew by now that she'd say no, but they still asked anyway.

"No thank you," she replied softly, looking down at her book once again.

The new housemaid had done nothing but read since she'd arrived, and for some inexplicable reason, it irked Sarah quite a lot.

"I've heard," Sarah sneered as she cut the remaining sewing thread from her Ladyship's hat, "that there is an entire world out there beyond page 125 of _A Tale of Two Cities_…"

"And what would _you_ know about it?" The young woman's unexpectedly terse response cut through the air like a knife, and Sarah could feel her mouth twitching slightly at her words. Violet peered at her through her round glasses with a chilling stare.

In times like this, Sarah wished Thomas were still here to laugh at her joke. He would have at least muddied the waters a little, made this insufferable girl feel outnumbered.

She continued to sew as if nothing had fazed her. "You know, they say that reading too much can ruin your eyes until one day, you'll have to wear a pair of very unflattering…" She purposefully stopped herself just in time to look up at Violet and say with false pity, "Oh," before returning to her work.

The housemaid stood up angrily and snatched her things. Before storming off, she snapped, "Well, it is better than becoming a woman who carries with her a perpetual scowl and the ever-repugnant aroma of cigarette smoke."

Daisy and William began to laugh as Violet marched up the stairs until one stern look from Bates quieted them down.

* * *

They met in the hallway an hour later, crossing paths to and from the washroom. The last thing Violet wanted was for this horrid woman to know that she had been hurt by her comment. She simply straightened her posture and said in a falsely confident, explanatory manner,

"If you must know, I have worn them since I was a small child. Reading has no effect on one's eyes."

Miss O'Brien's rude remark was certainly not the first time Violet had been mocked for her glasses. In fact, compared to the cruelty she'd faced in her younger days, this should have bothered her much less than it did.

Miss O'Brien shot her a cold stare and asked bluntly, "Why do you read so much?"

The question surprised Violet. She took a moment to think and responded as rationally as she could. "It is rather stimulating to find oneself engrossed in something other than the mundane realities of daily life. When I read, I do indeed find a way to connect to worlds outside of my own…different places, different people…I can imagine things that I have never seen..."

Miss O'Brien laughed disdainfully. "Best not to fill your head with rubbish like that. You'll only be disappointed once you realize it's impossible to get to those places. Well, at least impossible for someone like _you_."

The blow hit Violet hard, but she still tried to maintain her sweet, gentle, and slightly detached tone. "I apologize for what I said earlier. You don't smell like cigarette smoke all the time. Only when you return from smoking, which is only logical."

"How kind of you to say."

If Violet had been expecting a similar apology from the lady's maid, she knew now that she wasn't going to get one.

* * *

"Sodding idiots, all of them," Mr. Smithson said with a derisive laugh. "Going off to die like rats. Of course I'd rather run away, to anywhere other than here. What's the point, really?"

Sarah hadn't liked this guest valet since he had arrived last night, but his comments about the soldiers crossed a line, and she was infuriated. She banged her cup of tea down on the table with such force that it almost shattered.

"How dare you say such a thing to us, when so many of our young men have gone off to fight so that you can sit around on your fat arse and criticize them. They're our friends and fathers and…brothers..." She tried to stop her voice from shaking, raising it to disguise the tears that threatened to flow. That would not do. "They sacrifice their lives and, and it's out of bravery and duty, and if you had a speck of sense in that thick head of yours, you'd give them the respect they deserve. Some of them never come back, and we lose them forever, and you _dare _speak ill of them?"

She rose from her seat abruptly and hurried up the stairs, afraid of what would happen if she were to truly unleash her fury on this person who wasn't worth her time.

The other servants at the breakfast table sat stunned, for they had never heard such emotional, reverent words from Miss O'Brien. Even Violet looked up from her book to see what the fuss was about.

* * *

When Violet arrived at the door to Miss O'Brien's room, she paused before knocking, rendered immobile by the muffled sound of crying. She did not know how long she stood there, listening to the woman's heavy sobs. She knew she should have left, but she couldn't bring herself to do it. She wished there were something she could do, wished she could end this entire war. Oh how she wished.

She finally worked up enough courage to knock lightly on the door and clear her throat primly. "Miss O'Brien?"

Suddenly, the weeping woman was silent. After a moment, she said in a harsh voice, "Go away."

"I have a message for you, about her Ladyship? It is important."

Little did Violet know that she had said the only thing in the world that would have made the other woman show her face at that time. The door opened so quickly that at first, it didn't even register with the housemaid that she was standing face-to-face with Miss O'Brien.

"What is it? Is something wrong?" Her eyes were red, but her expression was oddly no different than usual, even if worried.

"Mrs. Hughes asked me to tell you that her Ladyship would like to change the frock that she has chosen for tea today, and she is already running late."

The lady's maid's face fell and twisted into a resentful grimace. "Good God, girl. You've made it sound like she had a bloody heart attack!"

Violet softened her voice and asked, "Miss O'Brien, why…"

"It's not your place to ask questions. Get back to work."

She slammed the door in Violet's face with no further explanation, leaving the younger woman confused, concerned, and helpless.

* * *

They both were early risers. This Violet knew. She'd heard the sounds of her shuffling around on her way to the washroom before first light. She had been shut out the night before, but Violet couldn't help her own need to do something about it. Violet may have shunned the company of most other servants, but she simply would not allow this to go unaddressed. Besides, she thought. It would be nice.

She was not surprised to find her awake and already dressed.

"I am going to take a quick walk before breakfast. Would you like to join me?"

Miss O'Brien eyed her with suspicion. "I don't need your pity, and I don't want it."

"I do not pity you, Miss O'Brien, not when there are countless people who _do _need our pity at this time. How very selfish of you to assume."

The lady's maid rolled her eyes and began to close the door, but Violet stopped her. "I walk every morning, and I thought it might be nice to have a bit of company today, to talk with someone. That's all."

"Well look who's suddenly decided to become social," Miss O'Brien smirked. "You'll have to find someone else to entertain you, I'm afrai…"

"I don't much care for anyone in this house, and I dare say you don't either," the housemaid interrupted her. "Who else am I supposed to invite? Mr. Bates?" Her sarcasm was far from subtle.

Violet was delighted to see a small smile break across Miss O'Brien's pursed lips, and she waited patiently as the lady's maid went to find her hat and coat.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2: Coming Apart**

* * *

"Why do people go for walks? I don't see the point in it."

Sarah watched her boots carefully as she set them down in the gravel of the path, one in front of the other in a steady pattern. It was a bit windy this morning, and she resented having to hold onto her hat to keep it from blowing away.

"Why do you say this, Miss O'Brien?" Violet asked good-naturedly.

Sarah glanced over at her companion, wishing the younger woman weren't so much taller than her. Her own height had never really bothered her in the past, for she could make even the most giant of men feel like children in her presence. But for some reason she could not explain, in this moment, she felt very small.

She stared straight ahead again before replying, "I've always thought people who take morning or afternoon strolls through their gardens have too much time on their hands. You walk to get somewhere, and if you have nowhere to be, you might as well stay at home."

Violet laughed shrilly. "Good Heavens, Miss O'Brien! What would her Ladyship say if she heard such a thing from you!"

Sarah smiled to herself, knowing full well that Cora Crawley had heard far worse from her.

Violet continued, "Don't you enjoy stretching your legs every once in a while?"

Sarah chortled in response. "Do you really think that after everything I do all day, that I need to tire my legs even more?"

"Excellent point." Violet giggled, and Sarah was surprised to realize that she didn't find the sound unpleasant.

Sarah was taken off-guard when the housemaid suddenly moved in closer to her and linked their arms. They walked as ladies often do, intertwined at the elbow, with the occasional rustle of fabric as their hips brushed. Sarah had never liked this way of walking, but she could never explain to female acquaintances why this was, and so she tolerated it. There was a tiny part of her that despised the way women were with one another in their friendships, holding hands and kissing cheeks and calling one another sweet things like "my love," as if it were all a ridiculous joke, made at Sarah's own expense.

"You know I must ask," Violet said quietly, her eyes saddened behind her circular spectacles. "If you want to tell me, I promise I that would not tell a soul. These times are difficult, and it is perfectly natural for a countess' confidante to be in need of a confidante herself."

Damn this girl and her way of saying things. Sarah could feel herself beginning to speak, and she fought and lost to each word that came flowing out.

"I'm not usually the way I was yesterday."

"I know." Violet responded quickly and curtly, as if she found it tedious to retrace the obvious facts.

"My favorite brother, he…" Sarah's voice shook, and she tried to restrain herself.

"Yes?"

When they returned from their walk that morning, the housemaid startled Sarah by reaching out and holding her hand tightly. It was the simplest of gestures, an unspoken assurance that Violet understood all that Sarah had shared with her, that she would be happy to listen whenever the lady's maid needed a friend.

* * *

By the start of the summer months, their morning walks had become routine. As the flowers stretched themselves fully into the sun and the streams began to bubble ever more loudly, so too did the jokes and games and gossip begin to bounce between the two women. Occasionally, Miss O'Brien talked of her childhood, of her youth, of her brother's death, of the fear that she might lose the best friend she ever had. Violet had her own stories as well, and yet, she did not care to dwell. In the face of another's crippling grief, her own relatively short life now shone before her like a sparkling, blessed jewel that only needed to be worn properly. Besides, she had not yet found a way to explain it all to another human being.

There were days when Miss O'Brien did not want to walk, when she could barely manage to leave her bedroom. Those were the days when Violet came to her and sat beside her, joining her in silence, sometimes placing a sympathetic arm on her shoulder. That was all the lady's maid needed to give her the strength to stand up minutes later and march downstairs to begin her tasks for the day.

Sarah O'Brien was far from a chatterbox. There was so much more, Violet knew it – questions that she could not bring herself to ask, painful areas that she did not wish to probe. There was sadness all around her during these difficult times. She'd heard the harrowing sound of Mrs. Patmore crying to herself in the kitchens late at night, had seen Tom's twisted grimace as he read his daily newspaper, had noticed William's hands trembling in the rare moments when the realities of warfare crept up on him. But never did any concerned eye turn toward the woman who stayed the most quiet, who bided her time hiding in shadowy corners of the house and of her mind and of her heart. Good gracious, she certainly didn't make it easy, but even _she_ needed someone to watch over her.

The answers to so many of Violet's questions became abundantly clear one unusually warm morning when they decided to rest for a moment in the meadow beside their walking path. They had removed their shoes to dip their tired feet in the cold stream as they leaned back on their elbows on the small, grassy incline.

Miss O'Brien had thrown her head back in the sunshine and erupted into throaty laughter when Violet asked whether she might be able to call her Sarah now. It was a beautiful sight to behold, the deep cracks and dark spaces beginning to burst with light and stability and a kind of uncontainable, untamable joy that she had never seen in the older woman.

"Don't be daft," Sarah replied kindly. "You have a right to call me whatever you want at this point, love."

A stillness fell upon them as they paused to grin at one another, and suddenly, Sarah was kissing her.

Violet's stomach somersaulted at the unexpected sensation of the other woman's wandering hands in her hair and on her neck, of surprisingly soft lips crushed against her own, of the urgency of their movements and of their breaths. She had not expected this, had not even considered the possibility of it, but she was surprised to find herself kissing Sarah back as if this were perfectly natural. She felt Sarah's warm tongue slip inside of her mouth, and she pressed herself down on top of the older woman, pushing her onto her back until they were rolling around in the grass and in the heather.

She shivered in shock when Sarah's determined hands slid down over her back and tightly circled her waist, pulling Violet in even closer. In a moment of agitating clarity, Violet quickly shoved Sarah away from her and jumped up in a panic. In the middle of it all, her glasses had fallen to the ground, and she frantically searched for them while stuttering breathlessly,

"You _cannot_ do that!"

"Yes, I can." Sarah replied firmly, yet playfully. She sat up slightly to watch the housemaid's movements.

"No you _cannot_! It is _wrong_," Violet insisted. Having finally found her spectacles again, she slipped them on and began to gather her things to leave.

Sarah still did not move from her spot. "I wasn't the only one _doing_," she snorted in harsh laughter. "I think you enjoyed that more than I did..."

"How _could _you," Violet snapped, flustered and embarrassed. She rushed to tuck her unruly strawberry-blonde curls back in place and put on her sunhat again. "I trusted you with my friendship and you…you took advantage of me! You've forced me to act in this… abhorrent manner, and I…I will not have it!"

Violet did not know what to do. She was in a complete state of disarray, frenzied and confused by what she had just done, terrified of what she had just felt. She needed to leave.

Sarah watched her in startled wonder, not fighting her as much as Violet would have expected. Violet found it frustrating. She wanted an incensed response, one with an explanation.

"No one _forced _you to do anything," Sarah replied incredulously, shaking her head and slowly pulling the flowers and greenery out of her hair.

"I trust that we will not talk of this again, or else I am afraid that I will have to tell someone about your…._very.._.troublesome conduct."

Violet was about to turn away with her nose in the air, pleased with her own moral determination, but she grew frightened as she saw the lady's maid's eyes darken. Sarah stood up again, and Violet could not move. Gone was Sarah's good-natured, teasing tone. It was now replaced with a quiet, horrifying rage.

"Look at me."

The housemaid stopped fidgeting straight away, as if enchanted by some sort of black curse.

"If anyone in the house hears a single word from you about this, I'll say you've lied," Sarah hissed. "I've been her Ladyship's maid for thirteen years. You've been a housemaid for less than one. They won't believe you, and you'll only get yourself sacked. I'll see to it myself."

Sarah said no more. As Violet hurried away, face ashen and heart pounding wildly, she could feel Sarah's dark gaze cutting into her, knew that the lady's maid remained in place, watching her in her harrowing stillness.

How could Violet possibly sit across from her in the servants' hall? How could she bear to have those eyes on her as she tried to eat her breakfast today? The solution was obvious to her, for it was not the first time that she had made a decision of this kind. She simply would not eat today, and she might not eat tomorrow. She had not been able to control what had just happened, but her meals were her domain. _She _would decide when to eat and when to not eat, and today, she would not eat.

* * *

_Sorry if this was too heavy and made you sad…Remember – this story is still incomplete! xoxo_


	3. Chapter 3

_And once again, we have Mrs. Hughes saving the day. I don't know why I always include this in my fics, but I just do. As I think one older review said, "Mama Elsie, fixing everything." Hehe!_

_Xoxo,_

_Morgana_

* * *

**Chapter 3: Returning**

* * *

She did not even bother knocking, had simply kicked the door open as if it were a perfectly normal manner of greeting someone. Violet quickly rose to her feet, startled to see Mrs. Hughes entering her bedroom with a dinner tray.

"Hello there," she said with a cheeky smile as she hurried over to the desk to set down the meal.

"Hello," the housemaid replied quietly, wondering what sort of lecture she was due to receive today.

The housekeeper stopped and brushed off her hands before resting them on her hips and commanding, "Well then. Eat."

"What?"

The older woman chuckled knowingly. "You haven't been eating all week."

"I have!" Violet insisted, irritated by her accusation.

"I'm sorry to tell you, Violet, that some bread and an apple once a day doesn't qualify as eating. You haven't graced us with your presence for a single meal in over a week!"

"How did you…"

"Madge informed me that she's had to smuggle bits of things up here for you." At the angry look on the housemaid's face, Mrs. Hughes continued sharply, "Now, don't you be cross with her. She told me because she cares for you. Eat."

Violet looked at the bowl of soup and the plate of hearty vegetables, and she shuddered. She did not think she could get it down without feeling sick. She crossed her arms over her chest, practically hugging herself in a panic.

The housekeeper sighed and sat Violet down in the desk chair. She leaned in, placed both hands on her shoulders, and looked straight into her eyes. Violet thought that she should have found it more intimidating, but at this point, she could not bring herself to care.

"I didn't want to have to tell you this, but when we first took you on, I received a letter in the post from your father."

"My _father_?" Violet felt her throat grow itchy with anxiety, and she coughed agitatedly. She now had an idea of where this conversation was going.

"He asked me not to hold it against you in any way, but he was worried, as any good father should be. He's asked me to keep an eye on you." Her voice grew gentler as she explained further. "Violet, your father wrote that you've done this before, that you stop eating when you're upset, and that the last time, you grew so thin that he was concerned for your health!"

"I am fine," the younger woman whispered shakily, trying to contain a mixture of fury and humiliation.

"Then eat."

"I….can't."

"Very well, then," Mrs. Hughes stated resolutely. "I'm not moving from this spot until you finish this plate." She plopped herself down on the bed next to the housemaid and folded her hands in her lap in an exaggeratedly demure style. "You have two choices. One, you eat that. Two, you tell me what the problem is, we fix it, and then you eat that. Both options end with you eating that, so I suggest you get it out of the way right now!"

Violet winced and lifted the spoon to her mouth, hating herself for every bite that she took.

* * *

Sarah kicked her bed sheets down to the bottom of the mattress and sat up in frustration. It was too bloody hot to sleep, and she could never allow herself to rest with so many things on her mind, not when Thomas was probably alone and afraid in some godforsaken trench somewhere, not when Violet was starving herself right across the hall.

There were people in distress all around her, and they needed her, and she wanted to slap them all across the face for not accepting the help that she craved to give. She'd stayed away from Violet, knowing full well that Mrs. Hughes had been monitoring it over the past days. Had it been any other servant in the Crawley household, Sarah would have become jealous and enraged, would have already found a way to enact her revenge, for it would never be fair for a mere housemaid to be served breakfast and dinner in bed every day as if she were the bleedin' lady of the house herself.

Sarah stretched her legs as much as she could, grimacing at the cramps she felt in her feet. As much as she hated to admit it to herself, she missed walking.

She froze at the sound of the light knock on her door, wondering who it could be at this late hour. She quickly pulled her dressing gown around her and stepped into her slippers. She lit the candle beside her bed and carried it to the front of the room, tiptoeing across the wooden floorboards.

When she pushed the creaky door open, she squinted in complete astonishment at the sight of the candle's flickering form doubly reflected in two perfectly round, familiar spectacles.

"Violet?" she whispered. Before she could inquire further, the younger woman had closed the door, had pushed Sarah up against the wall of her bedroom, and was kissing her with such alarming ferocity that Sarah almost dropped the candle. She responded eagerly for a moment, (for how could she not?), but when the flame came perilously close to catching Violet's hair, she broke their kiss and jumped away to return the candle to her bedside table. "Could you _be_ any more careless? We could have set the entire house on fire!"

"Sorry, sorry..." Violet hung her head in embarrassment, and her voice had grown as soft as it had been during her very first week at Downton.

"I didn't mean…you just startled me, love."

She delicately traversed the room once again and laid her hand on the housemaid's soft cheek as she whispered, "Why haven't you been eating?"

"How did you know?" the younger woman asked in slight surprise.

Sarah smirked affectionately. "I know everything."

Violet wrapped herself around Sarah's body in a crushing embrace and murmured in her ear, "I don't want to talk about that now. Please don't make me talk about it."

The lady's maid pulled Violet in even closer to her. They stood there, hugging one another tightly for God knows how long until Sarah relented and sighed, "All right. But we must talk about it eventually."

"I know."

Sarah shivered at the smallness of the other woman's voice, at the fragility of this person whom she held so snugly in her arms, at the fleeting sensation of Violet's lips dropping tiny kisses onto the back of her neck.

Sarah drew back, having almost forgotten her last encounter with the housemaid. She furrowed her brow and asked in a slightly accusatory manner, "Why are you here?"

"I'm sorry, Sarah," Violet said, her eyes beginning to tear up ever so slightly. "I don't know what this is, and I'm confused."

Sensing that the other woman had made a solid and unwavering decision to come here, Sarah wrapped her arms around Violet's waist and drew her in, intertwining her fingers behind her back. She placed a small peck on her lips before asking with a satisfied hum, "And why are you confused?"

The younger woman pushed her glasses up onto the top of her head and grinned, better able to see Sarah's face at close proximity. "I've never been _romantic _with anyone before."

Sarah chuckled and kissed Violet's nose, teasing, "Being _romantic_…is that what we're doing, now?"

"Oh, come off it." Violet giggled and blushed, looking at the floor bashfully. "You know what I mean. And I never imagined that it would be _quite _like this…."

"Ah," Sarah said, playfully twisting Violet's waist from side-to-side. "Not like in your novels then."

"No, you're right. Not at all." Violet breathed deeply and stared squarely into her eyes, showing a vulnerability that Sarah had never before seen in this straight-laced, uptight girl. "But I…I want to. I'm just scared."

Sarah smiled at her, feeling her heart begin to thaw at the realization of something she should have known from the start - Violet was young, and she was idealistic, and all in all, she was just a bit nervous.

Sarah slowly drew Violet backwards onto her bed until they were both sitting there on their knees, so closely intertwined that they could feel one another's chests rising and falling with each breath. The lady's maid began to unwind the younger woman's long, curly plait with gentle hands. She leaned in to give her the softest of kisses and lingered on her lips for a moment before assuring her, "I would never hurt you."

Violet nodded, but when Sarah gripped her hips and started kissing and nuzzling her neck, the housemaid asked in a high, adorably squeaky voice, "But it has to hurt, doesn't it? It must. It must!"

Sarah laughed darkly and confidently as she guided Violet down onto her back beneath her, began to slide her hands under her nightdress, and silenced her with another, much less innocent kiss. "Not on my watch."

* * *

_This can turn into smut if anyone really wants it to, but I'm leaving it here for now! _

_xoxo_


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4: Turning Pages**

* * *

The heat of summer had begun to die down, and Violet found that with each new morning, it was growing more difficult to fit into her dresses. Her corset had to be tied tighter, and yet, the sharp edges pressed into softer, more pliant skin, and any pain that she might have felt before was now gone. She no longer felt like herself, and she liked it.

For Madge, there was a lad in the village that called upon her often, and so she did not bat an eyelash when Violet departed into the darkness each night and returned to their shared bedroom early each morning. Once, Madge had rolled over in her bed to watch as her companion read by candlelight. She'd left Violet slightly stunned when she said softly,

"My mother is like you. She's like you and Miss O'Brien. I know, and I don't mind. You're lucky, the pair of you. You've found each other."

At first, Violet had found it overwhelming, the feeling of Sarah's hands and mouth caressing the most intimate parts of her body, the sensation of relinquishing control and allowing herself to show the places where her own knowledge stopped and her innocence began. The lady's maid was both forceful and gentle, and Violet could barely believe the way she knew exactly when to move from one to the other. But Violet could tell that Sarah had underestimated her intelligence, for it was not long before Violet had figured out how to bring the other woman to the point of desperately begging for more, of pleading for release lest her irrepressible moans and sighs escape past the carefully locked door of her bedroom. Violet was surprised to find in herself a youthful energy that she had never realized that she possessed, and Sarah delighted in allowing her to take charge, to discover precisely what she herself wanted and what she was capable of stirring within another person.

With this came something even more terrifying. Empty, dark spaces began to fill with deep secrets, told in the early hours where they had remained hidden for so long. There was nowhere to hide now – when tears fell and a heavy sorrow crept upon them both, there was always another pair of shaking arms, another warm body to drown out the sounds of sobs or of wild, nutty, uninhibited laughter. Violet had never imagined that she could get to know Sarah O'Brien like this, that she would grow used to all of the little things - the way she liked to burrow her head beneath her pillow in her sleep, the way she cursed quietly to herself and tripped over her own feet when she struggled to pull on her stockings each morning, the way she occasionally snorted when she giggled too much and then turned a surprising shade of pink at her unnecessary embarrassment. It was too much, and Violet grew afraid of what else she might find should it all continue like this.

One August night, as they both lay awake and silent, side-by-side, Sarah whispered,

"I'd be in the trenches too, if I could. I'd have traded places with my brother in a second. He was a good lad. I'd have done it for Thomas too, even if he is a bloody….well, don't tell him that if you ever…_when_ you meet him."

Violet inched closer to her once again and intertwined their fingers, kissing her cheek and resting her face against Sarah's.

"I pity any man who would come up against you in battle. You would decimate them all."

Sarah began to chuckle until her chuckles turned into vigorous laughs, and she laughed until her laughs were laced with small tears, and soon, she was weeping all over again as Violet held her tightly and whispered, for the very first time, that she loved her.

Violet was a noticer – the kind of girl who observed every detail of everything, and just now, she noticed the way that the woman in her arms continued to cry without a word.

* * *

Sarah was on the precipice, about to fall into something that she'd never actually prepared herself for. There was closeness and there was passion. Heaven knows there was passion. She had forgotten what it felt like to have someone to reach for in the night, to come undone at the mercy of another, to gather bundles of soft curves in her arms and plant her lips wherever they wished to fall.

But then there would always be sapphire eyes that glowed even bluer, a voice that flowed even more smoothly, and a profound, beautiful kindness that tore her soul to shreds until Violet arrived each night to put her back together.

The housemaid had accidentally walked in one day, just as Sarah was reaching up to adjust the countess' hat upon her head. They had both jumped at her entrance, as if guilty for an unknown wrong.

Sarah had managed to never mention it once, though with each passing night, she feared its release. There were moments when it threatened to burst out, and she would simply bury the truth with sudden kisses, mumbling the words inside every part of Violet but her ears. She hated herself for it.

She was young and brilliant and sensual, full of fire and force usually disguised by an even-toned, prim voice and by a calculated stare through thick spectacles. Sarah had never known anyone quite like her, and she couldn't help but grab her when they were alone. She wanted her every minute of every day, and she grumbled in dissatisfaction each morning when their skin was separated and Violet rose to wrap her dressing gown around herself – always with a perfectly executed double-knot at the waist - and left.

On the first night of October, she closed her book slowly around her thumb to mark a page and lifted the candle so that she could see Sarah's face clearly as the lady's maid released her long, brown locks from their constraints, allowing tiny pins to fall across the bedsheets.

"I'm reading a very interesting novel."

Sarah laughed quietly and rolled her eyes. "Always reading, you…I've taken you to bed, and you _still _waste your time with things that aren't _nearly_ as…entertaining…"

On any other night, Violet would have understood the joking message and would have erupted into playful giggles, leaving her book strewn across the floor. Not tonight. Sarah paused at the silence, rendered speechless by the other woman's pained expression.

She read aloud almost inaudibly, but crisply. "You pierce my soul. I am half agony, half hope. Tell me not that I am too late, that such precious feelings are gone for ever…I have loved none but you."

Sarah immediately felt something course through her, but before she could comprehend it herself, Violet simply closed the book and stared down at her own feet, hugging her knees to her chest like a lonely child.

"It _is _like in my novels, Sarah. I do not blame you. I promise."

"For what?" the older woman asked softly, puzzled and apprehensive, for deep down, she knew the answer.

Violet sighed. "For forgetting, just now, for a brief second, that _I _was the one reading those words."

Sarah sat with her mouth slightly agape, feeling her heart sinking lower and lower into her chest.

"Good night, Sarah."

Violet turned onto her side and promptly fell asleep, so far toward the edge of the bed that her arm and leg dangled limply beside her.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5: Blessings**

* * *

Sarah was furious when she finally came through the door.

"How nice of you to show up." Her glare was practically murderous.

"What do you mean?" Violet asked as she stepped out of her slippers.

"What do I mean?" Sarah marched straight up to the younger woman and grasped her wrist, tugging on it until she had to look down into her glowering face. "You sneak off in the middle of the night like a thief, you ignore me all day, and then you think you can just saunter in at your leisure tonight? I've been worried sick!"

Violet could now see the fear in her - how pale her eyes had grown, how wan her cheeks had become, how the color had left her lips. She yanked her wrist away and crossed her arms defensively over her chest.

"I was busy today," she responded quietly and calmly.

"_Busy?_" Sarah laughed bitterly and shook her head. "What have I done? Have you gone off me? Is that it? Just tell me, Violet!"

The younger woman smiled softly and simply reached over for Sarah's hand, ignoring the look of confusion on the older woman's face. She lifted the back of her hand to her lips and placed a delicate kiss there, wishing with her entire being that she didn't have to say anything more.

"I think it's positively lovely, the way you look at her," Violet finally said. She grinned at the continued puzzlement knitted into Sarah's furrowed brow.

She watched as Sarah uncomfortably tried to speak but couldn't.

"I wish," Violet said softly as her eyes began to grow warm with tears, "that you would look at _me _in that way, but…" She had to pause to pat her eyes and nose dry with her handkerchief. She neatly folded it and pocketed it. "…but I am silly to wish for it." She stared down at the floor, focusing on her own stocking-covered feet – anything to avert her gaze from the other woman's troubled eyes. "I know that I should be content with what we have, but..."

"Oh, no, but…" Sarah finally managed to say hoarsely.

"No." Violet interrupted her with surprising force. "Listen to me. Listen to me, Sarah," she pleaded. "Perhaps it is selfish of me to want to be wanted in that way too, but I cannot help what I feel, in the same way that I cannot help but…" She tried to cover her escaping sniffles with her hand as she spoke, but the tears had already fallen and there was no use in attempting to hide it. "I think I have accidentally managed to fall in love with you."

Violet laughed sadly and suddenly pulled Sarah into her, hugging her tightly and showering kisses into her dark hair.

"Violet," she said worriedly, trying to wriggle out of her embrace.

"Stop." Violet silenced her with a gentle kiss, adoringly cupping the lady's maid's face in her hands.

"Violet, I…"

"_Will _you stop?" the younger woman exclaimed in exasperation. "For once, can you just allow me to show you what it feels like to be on the other side? Just once I want to be serious. Please. I know it means nothing to you, but please."

Sarah seemed stunned by the younger woman's request and stopped trying to talk, allowing herself to be swept up in a stream of agonizingly gentle kisses and touches. When they found themselves lying once again on Sarah's bed, the lady's maid immediately sat up and turned until Violet was beneath her.

"_No_!" Violet murmured in defiance. She flipped them over once again, pinning Sarah's forearms into the pillow around her head. She leaned down to leave a tender, lingering kiss on her lips and stared straight into her eyes for a long while. The housemaid just barely brushed her lips against the other woman's neck as she whispered in her ear, "Slowly. Just once. Slowly. Let me. _Please_, Sarah."

Finally understanding what she meant, Sarah nodded wordlessly and gave herself over to it all.

* * *

Sarah couldn't stop her hands from shaking as she wove Violet's curls into a long and intricate braid, stopping briefly to pull the collar of the younger woman's nightdress aside and nuzzle the exposed bit of skin that she found there. It was strange, she thought, to have been made love to. No one had ever moved so unhurriedly, had ever touched her so gently. She hadn't realized that there was more than one way for it to happen, and it had left her breathless and bewildered. For the first time, she felt important to someone else. And yet, she felt completely helpless; try as she might, she would never be able to make Violet feel the same, and she now understood that it was okay. She no longer blamed herself. She no longer blamed Cora.

They sat there like that for hours, sometimes talking and sometimes in silence. When the light of dawn began to stream through the window, they both realized that they hadn't slept one bit, and Sarah drowsily wrapped her arms around Violet, pulling the housemaid into her and delighting in the warmth of their tangled nightdresses and covers.

"I've given Mrs. Hughes my notice," Violet said weakly, almost inaudibly.

Sarah sighed heavily, squeezing the younger woman's waist in her arms and resting her head on her shoulder. "I thought you might have done."

The housemaid laid her arms over Sarah's and patted them daintily. "I hope that you understand. I cannot stay here."

"I know," Sarah assured her, hugging her even closer. "I'm sorry."

"Do not apologize, please." Violet closed her eyes and took a slow breath. "But do promise me that you will _not_ allow the countess to make you feel so small. You really mustn't."

"She…" Sarah mumbled. "I don't…" Before Violet could interject, she continued quickly. "If I make you that promise, you must promise me that your appetite will still be ravenous wherever you go. I don't want to be worrying about you all the time. You're a bloody nuisance with this strange habit of yours."

"I promise."

Violet turned her head around and stole a playful little glance at Sarah, who chuckled and gave her a peck on the check

"You're an odd one, you know that? Take care of yourself."

Violet nodded softly. "You too. If…if in this…war…" She stopped herself, clearly confused as to how she should express it.

"Oh, no need to be fussed over me, love. I'll survive. I always do," Sarah assured her. Her confidence wavered for a moment, and she could not disguise the way her voice grew feebler as she added, "Don't you dare forget to write."

She slipped away as stealthily as she'd arrived, like a mouse that had repeatedly and finally evaded capture. Sarah imagined the scene over and over again: the unison clicking of the clasps on the suitcase, the meticulous lacing of the shoes, the discreet clacking of the heels across the kitchen floor, the imperceptible rustle of skirts as they brushed against the closing door, the way she would have pushed her glasses up between her eyes with her index finger, the satisfied hum she would have made before crossing the road. It was a beautiful way to leave, Sarah thought – immersing those who remained only in memories and stillness and not in tearful, messy blubbering. Sarah might have thought her an escaped dream if she hadn't found the tiny book and pen waiting on her bed at the end of the day. The note was brief, curt, and Sarah couldn't help but grin wryly at how typically like her it was.

_Dear Sarah,_

_Since you are always exceedingly difficult and refuse to read, perhaps you will prefer writing. You will not want to hold too many heavy secrets inside of yourself. It can be harmful for your health. I would advise that you use this to your advantage._

_Love always,_

_Violet_

* * *

_1939_

Miss Whisset walked along the promenade, inhaling the damp, cold air of the night and trying eagerly to put as much distance between herself and that poor man as possible. It had been so many years – decades, even – since that voice had last woven its way into her head, and yet here it was once more, arrived at a most inconvenient time.

She clutched at her handbag tightly, wondering whether her kneading, nervous hands might even tear holes in it. She would have laughed at him, Violet thought. She would have scoffed at his gentle demeanor, at his excessive politeness, at the void where a fighting spirit should have been. Her low snicker bounced within Violet's memory from ear to ear and back again, leaving her head pounding and her heart aching. She was forever situated there – a dark conscience, leading her away from the light and toward the depth.

She stopped by the railing to watch the yellow glow of the lamps shining across the water before her. She wished she were different – more innocent, more genuine. She pursed her lips tightly and tried not to cry at the thought of the admiring way he had looked at her over these past days, the way he had stood so straightly and proudly when they had danced together, his hand honorably still across the small of her back. She wished more than anything that she could be those things for him. She imagined herself for a moment as a pleasant woman content to spend her days arranging flower bouquets and pastel-colored petit fours. Once again the hearty laughter filled her memory as she slid off one glove, gasping at the warm contact of her palm laid against her own cheek. It was not right. He had not been right. She would wait patiently, always remembering, always hoping to find the one who would keep her from remembering.

* * *

_That's it, friends. Hope it wasn't too heavyhearted in the end. :-)_

_xoxo,_

_Morgana_


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